


Codename: F.U.B.A.R.

by MrsAlderaan



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 16:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsAlderaan/pseuds/MrsAlderaan
Summary: In the ninja world, torture is a reality that even academy students must come to terms with.





	Codename: F.U.B.A.R.

Anko loomed over the blonde boy with lust in her eyes. With each stroke of her blade, they would lighten more in obscene pleasure drawn only from seeing blood drawn from the smooth flesh underneath. She lifted the Kevlar dagger up from her victim and drew it to her lips, licking the red liquid from the broad side of the object with a moan.

“That is so unsanitary, Anko.” Ibiki grumbled from the other side of the room, where he was silently observing the proceedings. “You don’t know where he’s been.”

Anko’s eyes turned dark and dull from their light moments before as killing intent began to seep into the room in rolling waves coming off the smaller woman’s scantily clad body, turning to glare at the scarred and stoic director of the Interrogation and Intelligence division of Konohagakure no Sato. “Ibiki, if I hear you speak while I am working a prisoner one more time, I will make you wish you’d never been born. I don’t care that you are on my side. You. Are. In. My. Way. Do you understand?” Her head tilted to the side, eyes still covered in their dull, emotionless sheen before she closed them in a happy gesture, tilting her head to the side as if posing a friendly question rather than threatening a comrade.

Ibiki simply nodded, turning to watch the proceedings once again as Anko brought her attention back to the twelve-year-old with the brightest blue eyes that he’d ever seen in recent memory. The only other person he’d ever seen with those eyes before this was… no, but it couldn’t be… wouldn’t the whole village know if HE had a child? Wouldn’t that child be venerated rather than a pariah?

“Now, boy, tell me what you know, and there will be no more pain.” Anko crooned, leaning into the child’s ear close enough for him to feel her breath grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Urgh!” He bemoaned, vainly attempting to roll out of harm’s way despite his restraints. “Never!” He shouted with more vehemence than he looked like he could muster in his current bound, beaten, and lacerated state.

Anko drew closer, leaning in to reach the sensitive, soft-fleshed juncture at the base of his neck, licking the area lasciviously with a feral growl. Then, she opened her mouth as if to speak before she thrust herself forward, sinking her teeth deep into the pliable flesh there. The sounds of the kid’s screams filled the tiny white room.

“Tell me!” Anko finally screamed, losing her patience with her latest victim; her hand reared back from its place at her side, hunting knife still gripped firmly in her white-knuckled grip. The boy’s eyes widened as the blade glinted in the starkly white light of the interrogation room. Fear filled his orbs as the instrument reached its apex before crashing back down with a force that would likely cleave right through him. 

A wet thunking noise resounded through the room followed by a watery screech as the blonde howled in abject pain. “Stop. Stop. Please.” He wept, tears beginning to stain his cheeks in ugly reddened tracks as he wriggled uncomfortably, shying away from the stabbing pains now radiating from the place where the knife was embedded in his shoulder. Warm blood gushed from its host, pooling on the floor in a growing puddle as the child futilely moved to extract himself from the blade of the knife, which had been lodged into the cement floor beneath his body, further pinning him in place, multiplying his agony as he attempted to remove or escape the pain.

Anko moved up, straddling his body and hovering over him before reaching into her trench coat pocket to find a scroll. With practiced ease, she unfurled it, channeling just a bit of chakra into the seal in order to remove its contents. A small puff appeared along with the item, a container of salt. She shook it, revealing that the canister was nearly full to her prisoner. 

“Are you ready to talk yet, or shall I continue this?” Anko murmured darkly, eyes once again alight with sensuous pleasure. She could see the boy breaking before her eyes, and this pleased her, making her want to continue- to move forward until all he knew was hers to manipulate as she saw fit. 

He coughed, blood and spittle flew from the corners of his lips before he spat the offensive liquid away attempting to avoid the ire of the unhinged woman anymore than he already had. “Y-you’re sick.” He stammered, eyes swimming with a mixture of horror and dizziness from the blood loss. 

A sneer contorted Anko’s features before she spoke. “Twisted, my dear, twisted. What you said makes it sound like I can be fixed.” She paused, pursing her lips in feigned thought. “You can’t fix a mind that’s been broken. Now, let’s see if we can break yours… shall we?”

Before Anko could continue on with her ministrations, Ibiki spoke up from the corner. “That’s time, Anko.”

“Damn.” She groaned, snapping her fingers and standing up. Once she stepped away from the blonde academy student, she realized she’d forgotten something important, bending down to grip the knife’s hilt. Without a second thought, she yanked it out of the flesh and bone, eliciting an unconscious wail of agony from the orange clad child. “That’s the second one today that hasn’t broken. I must be losing my touch.” Anko spun around, storming out of the enclosed room, not bothering to look back at the now comatose ninja recruit on the floor. 

The boy’s teacher entered shortly thereafter, shaking his head at the state of his student. “Anko went a little overboard again. How’d he do, Ibiki?”

The head of the Intelligence and Interrogation division quietly assessed all he’d seen in the 30 minute ‘training session’ before responding. “Iruka, you’ve got one hell of a ninja on your hands.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the writing prompt: "I'm not sick. I'm twisted. Sick makes it sound like there's a cure."  
> Thanks for reading,  
> MA


End file.
